“Kitten season sounds adorable.”
“It’s chaos in a fur coat.”
He smiled. Stepped closer. “Autumn?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m going to kiss you now. If it’s okay.”
My heart stopped. “Okay.”
He cupped my face in both hands, his palms warm against my skin, and kissed me.
Soft at first. Gentle. A question.
I answered by fisting my hands in his shirt and pulling him closer.
The kiss deepened. His tongue traced my lower lip, and I opened for him, tasting wine, chocolate, and something that was just him. He made a noise low in his throat—hungry, desperate—and I felt it everywhere.
His hands slid into my hair. Mine mapped the planes of his back, the solid muscle, the way his body responded to my touch. He walked me backward until my back hit the brick wall and pressed against me, all heat and want and barely restrained need.
“Autumn,” he breathed against my mouth.
“Yeah?”
“If we don’t stop, I’m going to do something wildly inappropriate on a public street.”
“Like what?”
His hips rolled against mine, and I felt exactly what he meant. Hard. Ready.
Oh.
“That’s…” I couldn’t form words. “That’s quite a promise.”
“Not a promise.” He kissed along my jaw, down my neck, teeth grazing my pulse point. “A warning.”
I whimpered.
Cole pulled back, breathing hard, his eyes dark with desire. “I should let you go.”
“You should.”
Neither of us moved.
“Can I see you tomorrow?”
“You have a show.”
“Before. After. Late. I don’t care how late.”
“Cole.”
He pressed his forehead to mine. “Please. I know this is fast. I know you’re scared, but I can’t walk away from this. From you.”
The streetlight cast shadows across his face. His eyes searched mine, vulnerable and open and waiting for an answer I wasn’t sure I could give.
Because saying yes meant admitting this was real.
